


Petal for Your Thoughts

by CarryOnMyWaywardCastiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean as Sam's legal guardian, Language of Flowers, M/M, Young Sam, flower shop au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-10
Updated: 2013-11-10
Packaged: 2018-01-01 03:02:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1039572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarryOnMyWaywardCastiel/pseuds/CarryOnMyWaywardCastiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel owns and operates a little flower and herb shop sandwiched between a bakery and a daycare on a sleepy little side street of a bustling city. He isn't overworked, but he's helpful and kind and that's given him a growing, happy clientele. It also gives him Dean Winchester.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Petal for Your Thoughts

It's a cool, breezy spring afternoon when the most beautiful man Castiel has ever seen first stomps through the door and asks for directions with a look of total exasperation and semi-hopelessness on his handsome face. He’s holding the hand of a curly-haired, smiling boy around preschool age who bounces on the balls of his feet and looks around at all the colorful plants in extreme interest, his cheeks rosy from the wind (or perhaps his atrociously patterned scarf and sweater that are entirely too warm for the weather).

Castiel happily (and perhaps with more forthright staring than is likely normal), points him right next door to the daycare and sends him on his way, but not before rounding the counter and shyly handing the man a small clip of gladiolus. It seems to catch him off guard, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion as he fumbles for his wallet, but Castiel shakes his head and waves it off.

“You don't seem to be having a very pleasant day,” he explains, hoping the small smile he gives doesn't completely betray his more than slight interest, especially when his smile is hesitantly returned with a warm nod of thanks.

They leave, the happy little boy even bouncier with a candy from the dish on the counter clutched in his chubby fist, and Castiel stares wistfully after them.

He thinks of the man fondly and with a hint of sadness the rest of the afternoon, and even into the night, after he’s closed up shop and retreated upstairs to his little apartment, but he resigns himself to the unlikelihood of ever speaking to him again. It seems he’s enrolled his son in the daycare, however, and Castiel holds tight to the hope that he’ll be able to catch the occasional glimpse of the handsome, sun-kissed man through the window of his shop every now and then. Of course, he certainly doesn’t expect for him to breeze in the very next morning.

As it is, he’s entirely engrossed in advising a young middle school girl on how to properly care for the Alstroemeria seeds he’s given her. She had come in with a list of things for her mother’s vegetable garden, but Castiel could see the gleam in her eyes when she looked at his perennials hanging by the window and couldn’t help throwing in a few things to get her started.

Castiel loves helping his customers, especially when he can sense a passion in them or, in Mikhal’s case, a budding spark of interest that could very well turn into a lifetime love, so it’s not quite so unbelievable that he doesn’t register the little bells on his door tinkling. He says his goodbyes to Mikhal (who promises to take pictures of her flowers as they grow and come back to show him) and ducks down behind the counter to replace the seed packets she had chosen from.

“Thanks for the help yesterday.”

It’s a great testament to Castiel’s self-control that he manages to stop himself from jerking his head up and catching himself on the lip of the counter, but it's a close thing. When he straightens, the bright-eyed man from the day before is casually resting his forearms against the counter across from him, grinning at Castiel’s obvious shock.

“And for the, you know, flower and stuff, I guess.” The man trails off, his brilliant smile fading as he takes on a look of slight discomfort and perhaps a tad bit of embarrassment. It’s at that precise moment that Castiel realizes he hasn’t moved or blinked since laying eyes on him.

“Oh!” He smiles weakly in apology. “Oh, no, it was my pleasure.” And there it is again, a smile that lights up his whole face, draws little crinkles just at the edges of his soft green eyes. It’s only the third time Castiel has seen it, the first being a short glimpse right as he and his son were leaving the day before, but already he feels warmed from the inside out, giddy in his presence.

“Yeah, well, thanks anyway. Pretty stupid of me for missing something right in front of my face, huh? Dean, by the way,” he says, holding a hand out over the counter for Castiel to shake.

“Castiel. Very nice to formally meet you, Dean,” Castiel replies as he takes Dean’s hand, and when he does he can’t help but linger a moment or two before pulling away. Dean’s hand is rough and calloused and a bit greasy under the fingernails, but it’s warm and almost exactly the same in size as Castiel’s. He finds himself wondering what Dean does for a living.

“Though you can’t hold yourself entirely at fault for parking on the wrong side of the block,” he says, instead of asking, “A few more steps around the corner and you would have found it well enough on your own.” _Although I’m glad you didn’t_ , he doesn’t say. He _does_ make himself busy with tidying up his (immaculate) counter top, for no real reason other than to do anything aside from staring unwaveringly into Dean's eyes and making a fool of himself.

“Yeah, guess so.” Dean seems almost amused, a small smile gracing his lips as he straightens and shoots a quick glance around Castiel's shop, as if seeing it for the first time. Castiel pauses in his nervous tidying to watch him, to gauge his reaction. He doesn't look for very long, eyes sweeping in mild interest over hanging pots teeming with brightly colored flowers and orderly waist-high aisles holding different tools, pots, and other odds and ends.

“Smells... planty,” he muses, and startles Castiel out of his confusion (“Planty?” Is that bad? He's almost completely certain he left the bags of fertilizer in the back) with a sharp tap of his hand on the counter. “Listen, I gotta run. Boss'll be hanging my balls up in his rear view if I'm late again. See you later, Cas.” And he's striding out before Castiel can even think, leaving behind nothing but a faint trace of warm leather in the air and the tinkle of Castiel's door chimes. He's a little confused, likely suffering from whiplash, but he can't help but be... pleased.

It isn't until a few hours or so and three customers later that Castiel remembers what Dean had called him. _Cas_. It's been quite a while since anyone has given him a nickname, not since his rather lengthy stint in college at the very least, and he finds that he likes the feel of it. Castiel holds on to the residual warm, pleasant glow of their short conversation buzzing faintly inside his ribcage, smiling to himself and to his flowers.


End file.
